


Different in the Dark

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Crack Relationships, F/M, In Which Black Sky Means Cool Demonic Powers Instead Of Generic Kung Fu Skills, Post-Season/Series 03, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: Foggy gets a late-night visit, but the ninja knocking on his window isn't the one he expected.





	Different in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet can also be found on Tumblr [here](https://pomegranate-belle.tumblr.com/post/184767483165/crack-pairings-you-say-picks-two-characters-that)

Foggy does, actually, expect the knock at his window that night in late fall when the mother of all storms blows in. That’s the kind of life he lives now, apparently. It’s just that he’s expecting an idiot in a horned helmet and red body armor on the other side of the glass, not… Well. Not his best friend’s dead (undead? _re_ -undead?) ninja ex-girlfriend, soaked through and too-pale with her ink-black hair slicked over her shoulders like a waterfall.

“Hello, Franklin,” she says with glowing eyes and a voice full of teeth.

Foggy’s pretty sure giving demons or vampires or what-the-fuck-ever a Black Sky is supposed to be permission to enter your home is how the protagonists of horror movies get murdered, but Elektra’s trembling from head to toe and no matter how unfairly perfect her bone structure is it doesn’t stop her from looking about two seconds from toppling off his fire escape. He’s on the fifth floor. It wouldn’t be a pretty fall.

So he slides the window open as far as it’ll go, lets Elektra Natchios slink into his bedroom and drip all over his carpet. Gets his fluffiest towels because yeah he’s spent most of his adult life hating her guts for breaking Matt’s heart but he’s still a good host, dammit.

“Here,” he tells her briskly when he hands over the pile of them. “Before you catch the ague.”

A sharp laugh spills from Elektra’s bluing lips and she sweeps the towels around herself way too gracefully for someone who looks like they’re barely standing.

“How kind of you, Franklin.”

“Yeah, I’m a saint,” he deadpans. “What exactly are you doing here? I mean, first off, how did you know where here was, obviously, but also why here and not Matt’s place?”

Elektra tilts her head, thoughtfully, and begins toweling off her hair. The shadows in the room shift and writhe, and no matter how good a speaker he is Foggy can’t convince himself it’s an optical illusion caused by the distant forks of lightning outside.

“I was curious,” Elektra says finally. “He goes to you, afterwards. Matthew. When he’s done fighting and he wants to fit the devil back under his skin again. But you’re nothing special, not that I’ve ever seen. What’s so different about you in the dark?”

Foggy shoots her an incredulous look, and then has to hurriedly spin away as Elektra starts slipping out of her — whatever they are. Fighting clothes. They hit his floor with a wet slap.

“I’m always the same,” he tells her too-loudly, rummaging in his closet. “Not all of us Jekyll and Hyde it like you guys.”

He holds out the sweatpants and shirt behind him without looking, and there’s a brush of cold, damp fingers on his wrist as they’re taken.

“Aren’t you a gentleman. I’m decent now.”

“I doubt it,” Foggy mutters under his breath.

She’s got his sweatpants cinched as tight as they’ll go, based on the way the ties trail past her knees, and his shirt is so big she looks like she’s wearing a tent. Her hair’s wrapped up in one of the towels, and the others are on the floor with her wet clothes. It’s the least put-together Foggy has ever seen Elektra, but it doesn’t soften her the way it does Matt.

“You really don’t like me, do you?” she asks.

“I would need to be extremely inebriated to be dumb enough to answer that question.”

Elektra smiles again, threateningly.

“I wouldn’t mind a drink.”

“I, however, am trying to cut back so my burgeoning alcoholism and Matt’s reckless life choices don’t send me to an early grave,” retorts Foggy. “Therefore—”

He’s interrupted by a deafening crack of thunder that rattles the windows. It makes him jump. It makes Elektra jump too. And every shadow in the room. Foggy hadn’t even known shadows _could_ jump. Of more import is the wild-eyed, hunted look that goes over Elektra’s face. She’s shaking again, and it’s not from the cold.

She’s also one of like, the three deadliest people he’s ever met, somewhere between Frank Castle and Matt, and also they don’t actually like each other. That in mind, he doesn’t pull her into a hug the way he might Karen or Matt. Just takes one slow step forward with his hands up.

“Hey. It’s ok. You’re safe here, it’s just the storm.”

The fear on her face persists for another three terrifying seconds, and then she lifts her chin and folds it back inside of herself.

“ _What_ are you doing? I’m not a wild animal, Franklin. Or a child.”

Elektra’s voice is full of scorn, but Foggy’s intuition tells him it’s about ninety percent defensiveness. Maybe she and Matt are more alike than he ever realized. Which at least gives Foggy a bit of a stepping-off point for where to go next.

“No one said you were, your highness,” he replies as blithely as he can manage while he tries to ignore the shadows in the room all converging at Elektra’s feet. “But unlike some people I’m not a freaking black belt, so excuse me for not wanting to get drop kicked across my apartment.”

A close-mouthed smirk curls Elektra’s lips, and bit by bit the tension drains from the room.

Foggy busies himself by bundling up the towels and clothes on the floor and tossing them into his laundry hamper, then trying to dry out his carpets. Letting Elektra roam his apartment unsupervised feels a little like letting the fox into the henhouse but… Come on. What is she really going to do? She could just as easily kill him with her bare hands as a steak knife.

* * *

When Foggy’s finished cleaning up, he finds Elektra lounging on his couch, fiddling with something. It takes him a few seconds to identify the object - one of Daredevil’s… Sticks, batons, clubs, whatever they are. Even in the low lighting it’s pretty battered. Probably one of the ones that got buried under Midland Circle.

“I can call Matt, you know,” Foggy offers. “Even in a storm like this, he’d be over here in a heartbeat if he knew you were back.”

Strangely, the words don’t hurt like he thought they would.

“If I wanted to see Matthew tonight, I would have gone to him,” Elektra answers simply.

“Yeah, I guess,” says Foggy, because, well, yeah — she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to hold back from what she wants.

She pushes herself upright and then pats the empty couch cushion. Foggy figures his life is already so weird that he might as well. When Elektra turns towards him and crosses her legs, he mirrors her. And then there’s a long, long silence. For Foggy it feels unbearably awkward, but Elektra’s eyes are narrowed and she sets the weapon in her hands aside as she studies him.

“You’re not like Matthew and I,” she concludes.

“I mean. Of course I’m n—”

“And yet. I wonder…”

Elektra takes his face in her hands, and Foggy has about half a second to freak out about her potentially snapping his neck before her mouth is pressed against his own.


End file.
